The Way Our World Ended
by PragmaticHominid
Summary: My take on a common genre of B/V fics. AU in which Planet Vegeta was not destroyed, and the Saiyajin operate as freelance slavers. My goal is to produce a realistic/in character telling of what might happen if the Saiyajin invaded Earth. Trigger Warning.
1. Part One: Bulma

**Trigger Warning:** Please be advised, that while I have endeavored to avoid explicitly graphic content, this fic contains references to rape and violence that may be triggering to survivors of abuse.

**Part One: Bulma**

This is the way our world ended.

King Koku was on the TV when I came upstairs from my lab in the early AM of the day that the invasion began, but I was jonesing for another cup of coffee and caught up in my latest project, and it didn't seem worth my attention. His voice droned on in the background as I filled my coffee mug, advising calm in the coming crisis. And what of it? There was always some new crisis, and jowly old Koku with his deep set eyes and hangdog expression – who'd never been anything more than a figurehead anyway – was always advising people to remain calm in the face of it.

I didn't worry. Hell, I could take anything that the world had to throw at me, and if couldn't then Son would always be there to make things right. I'd seen Goku only a week earlier, when we'd had our little reunion out at Kame House. Terrifying, the thought of him and Chichi being parents, when those two were really still kids themselves, but that little Gohan had been a cutie.

Later, I'd wonder if Koku hadn't cut a deal with the invaders. If he did – if he had thought he could save his own tail by selling the rest of us out – then I don't think it worked out for him. I never saw him again after that broadcast.

Anyway, someone talked. Someone told the aliens that they could find the most advance tech the planet had to offer right here at Capsule Corp., because the invaders knew just where to come to snag all the best swag.

I was on my way back downstairs when I heard it; heavy footfalls on the floorboards overhead. There was someone inside the house, maybe a whole lot of someones, and they were headed for the kitchen. I froze on the steps, a million jumbled thoughts racing through my head. Then I put indecision behind me and, creeping up the steps quietly, I cracked open the basement door peered out through the gap with one eye.

There were at least five of them out there. Big guys with big muscles, all dressed in some type of weird armor that showed off way more than I needed to see. I wondered how they'd gotten past the security robots, and I wondered what they wanted.

While I was watching, one of the men opened the kitchen cabinets and began to rifle through the contents, tossing everything that didn't interest him over his shoulder. Two others were raiding the fridge; I couldn't see them clearly from this angle, because they were bent over behind the fridge door. But I saw one shove against the other's shoulder, and then – faster than I could blink – the first one was flat on his back on a pile of splinters that had up until then been my kitchen table.

The winner, a hulking bald-headed giant, stepped away from the fridge, the better part of a leftover leg of lamb clutched in his fist. He glanced around the kitchen, then the toaster seemed to catch his attention, and he stepped over to it. The giant leaned over the counter, studying the toaster with an intensely serious stare, while he gnawed pensively on the bony end of the lamb leg. "Hey, Vegeta," the man said, without taking his eyes off the toaster; his face was reflected back at me in its chrome surface, hawk-nosed and slightly cross-eyed. "Do you think this is worth anything?"

No one answered him, but for the first time a smaller man stepped into my field of vision. Not counting hair, he only stood chest-high to the smallest of the others, but when the haughty little prig came near them they shied away. Ignoring the bald man, the short guy crossed his arms over his chest and stood in the center of the room, looking around the room with hooded eyes and frowning like none of it was up to his standards.

He looked in my direction, and though his eyes passed over the door without pausing, the situation suddenly became real to me when I saw those mean little eyes turned my way; half a dozen strange men had broken into Capsule Corp., somehow in the process disabling the best security system in the world. They were violent and they were strong, and I had no idea what they were after. If this was some sort of industrial espionage operation then whoever had hired them was paying too much. Did they know about the Dragon Radar or -

Somewhere nearby something exploded. The men looked toward the sound, though strangely without a lot of surprise, and I took the opportunity to let the basement door slip shut, and began to creep down the stairs quietly. Up above, I heard one of the men say, "Somebody's having more fun than we are," and a couple of the others laughed.

Another said, "The stuff's supposed to be underground," and when I heard that I started to run through the lab, my feet slapping against the concert floor. I ducked into one of the storage closets and closed the door behind me. Upstairs, I heard the basement door open and the tromp of boots coming down the steps.

It was dark in the closet, the only light filtering in from under the door. I moved among the boxes and shelves carefully, trying to keep quiet. I knew the old trunk was in there somewhere, and I felt my way around the piles of junk, trying to find it. Whenever the rumble of nearby explosions paused I stopped too, holding very still and listening to the movements on the other side of the door. By then, though, the sounds of destruction had become almost constant. Over the distant thundering I could hear the men moving around in my lab.

"We looking for anything special?" I heard what I was pretty sure was the voice of the big bald man say.

"Anything that you don't recognize might be worth keeping," another answered.

My fingers brushed over the scarred lid of the trunk that I'd been looking for, and I unlatched it and lifted the lid slowly, hoping that the worn hinges wouldn't betray me by squealing. Inside the trunk, it smelled like memories – like all the adventures Son and I had had together back when we were just kids. I reached under my old parka, past a box of capsules, shoved a pair of swamp boots and a ruck sack to the the side, and finally I found what it was that I needed. I lifted the gun from the trunk, and cold and heavy comfort, then I reached back inside to grab the box of cartridges. I took two from the box and loaded the shotgun carefully, feeling my way through the process in the dark. Then I got to my feet and waited.

When the little man opened the closet door, I didn't so much as hesitate. He looked up at me, his face in shadow, though the light that flowed in through the open was enough to make me squint. Then he smirked, and I brought the shotgun up and fired – once, then again, and each time the stock bucked painfully against my shoulder. I aimed for his face, because I didn't know if his armor was real or just a costume.

He took both barrels at point blank range, and didn't even blink. His smirk got wider, and that was all. The others came up behind him, and they all wore the very same smirks; cruel half-smiles, that only pulled up the right side of the mouth, revealing just a flash of white teeth.

The short one reached out and took the gun from me, crumbling its barrel between his fingers like it was a paper tube. I tried to take a step back, but tripped over something, and fell back into the trunk. I floundered, trying to get back to my feet without taking my eyes off them, and that was when I noticed – the short one had a tail. No - they _all_ had furry brown tails. Just like Son Goku.


	2. Part Two: Piccolo

**Part Two: Piccolo**

The havoc that the invaders were able to wreak on the planet in less than a single day is such that my old self could never have hoped to rival them. There are thousands of them upon the Earth now, and they are as locusts, leaving in their wake not even the chaff.

Upon my capture, I was taken to West City. It was in flames, and the invaders moved amongst the flames, working greater destruction and looting such things as they seem to value as the natives do - food stuffs and shiny bejeweled baubles and small electronic gadgets and such other things.

The dead were everywhere, but the invaders have taken a number of captives as well. Some hundreds of them mill in front of several massive disc-shaped vessels, kept in the queue by a score of the invaders, who appeared to be supremely bored with their task. The one which had taken me captive dropped me from the air into the center of the herded masses. I watched him as he flew away, impressing his appearance upon my memory. I will not forget that one, nor will I forgive him for that which he has stolen away from me; his name is Raditsu, and he _will_ die by my hands.

The other prisoners pressed back against each other in their haste to put space between themselves and I. Well it is that they should fear me, but I've no interest in harming them at the moment. In any case, I've not the energy to waste even on such insects as these. The Saiyajin – for such is the name by which he called his race – had drained my resources completely. It was enough of a task to find my way to my feet and to remain standing as the crowd moved forward, progressing toward the ships. Still, in the very least I could observe, and so perhaps discover some weakness among these Saiyajin that I could use to my advantage in the future, and so I made a careful study of those that surrounded me.

What was immediately apparent was that the other prisoners were of a similar type, and that this type strongly resembled that of their captors; there were no blond heads among those that the Saiyajin had decided to keep for themselves, nor dark faces, nor any Animals of any kind. The women were slightly built but fit, raven-haired and olive or else ruddy-skinned, and the men were of similar shade, but large and heavily muscled. I noted very few exceptions to this rule. Additionally, there were no children among the captives numbers, nor any elderly persons, nor any individuals in possession of obvious infirmities.

They differed in appearance from the Saiyajin only in their tailessness and in their garb, and in the way that the stink of defeat and terror and loss stuck to them. Their eyes were dull with shock, or else wetted by tears. Many bore marks of failed resistance – bruises or bloodied faces or hands – and this seemed especially true of the women; in many cases their clothing had been as badly torn as my own, and they clutched at the tatters. I wondered if the Saiyajin had favored those who fought back most convincingly.

As we came nearer to the vessels, I saw that a trio of Saiyajin were separating the crowd into two different queues, the males to be funneled into the interior of one ship and the women to a second. I moved to follow the other men, but found myself shoved into the other queue by one of the invaders. I stumbled against a woman, and clutched her arm to keep from falling. She began to shriek the instant she felt my touch, but when she turned her head and saw me her screams only grew louder. I took my hand away at once, but the noise did not abate in the slightest. "Be silent," I hissed at her, "or I'll slit your throat."

Another woman stepped between myself and the loud one. "Don't make promises that you don't intend to keep," she told me. Her eyes were full of spite, as though she was daring me to follow through on my threat, but at the same time they seemed to hold some plea; it was then that I begun to wonder if there was some additional facet to this situation that I had failed to grasp. She took the first woman by the hands and shepherded her forward in the line, and eventually the shrieks faded away to sobs and hiccups.

I turned against the flow of traffic and tried to to place myself in the correct queue, but again I was knocked back among the women. One of the Saiyajin threw an insult at me, and the others laughed, and soon they were feeding upon each other, jeering, japing, pointing at me and slapping one another on the back; "Namekjin" they called me, and other epithets besides that I did not recognize. I saw there was nothing for it, so I turned stiffly and went along with the women, and attempted to take conciliation in the fact that I was at least leaving those fools behind.

There were more Saiyajin within the ship. They ushered us with cuffs and curses through a long, curved corridor, which appeared to run the for the circumference of the ship. On either side of the corridor there were cells, cramped and dank and not especially clean. There were four beds within each cell, and many of the cells already held four prisoners. I felt some hope as I studied the bars of those cells, for I believed that if given the opportunity I might easily bend or melt them, and thus perhaps win my freedom. However, as the other captives were locked away behind those flimsy bars, I was dragged and shoved to an enclosure different from the others, and there placed inside alone.

The walls of this cell appeared to have been produced from a different class of metal from the others. It was more of a wire mesh than bars, and there was enough room between the twig-thick strands that I could weave my fingers through the spaces. I did so, surreptitiously, when I felt that none were watching me, and clutched the mesh between my fingers; there was no give in the wires whatsoever. I looked down, and saw the floor was coated with what seemed to be the very same metal, as was the rear wall and the ceiling. I stomped my heel against the floor, and again found a barrier that was unresponsive to force.

I resolved to wait until I had had a chance to restore my strength before making another attempt; perhaps I would have better luck in the night, which would, I believed, in any case be a wiser time to attempt an escape. I sat cross-legged on one of the beds within my cell, and watched the proceedings outside. The other cells were soon filled to capacity, and the excess captives were driven back outside and the entrance closed shut behind them. What became of those then I could not say, for there were no windows and the walls of the ship blocked out all external sounds completely. We were left alone, but for one guard that stood by the two doors that lead to the outside and – presumably - the rest of the ship's interior, and a second that patrolled the corridor, circling back to my section periodically.

Food was brought, though the beings that offered it were of an entirely different race from Saiyajin - small and skittish, and covered in speckled brown feathers. I watched as one slid a tray through a small slot in the front of my cell. "That is not required," I told him, but he did not seem to have the heart to so much as glance my way, and only left the tray behind and moved on the the next cell. The proportions provided seemed to be inappropriately large, for no one seemed to finish their servings. Indeed, many of the women failed to retrieve their trays at all.

I stood to explore my cell more thoroughly, though in truth there was little enough to see. There was a curtain hanging near the rear, between the two sets of stacked beds, and I pulled it back to find a washbasin, as well as a shower and toilet. The water from the tap was reasonably pure, though there was no pleasure in its flavor.

Shortly thereafter, the lights were dimmed, though it never became entirely dark. The current guards were replaced by new pair; the one called Raditsu appeared to take the place near the doors. I watched him carefully from my seat on the edge of the lower bunk, tracking his every movement unobtrusively with hooded eyes.

The cells were largely quiet after that. From some corners there came muffled sobs or whispered conversations, but most of the captives seemed to be sleeping the sleep of the utterly exhausted. The silence was periodically broken only by the arrival of a new Saiyajin. He would – for it was always, I noted a lone male – stopped to speak briefly with Raditsu and the other guard. Sometimes the newcomer would press small objects into the guards' hands, though most of them traded only in words; indeed, words seemed to be one thing that Raditsu had in abundance, for he never seemed willing to allow a conversation to come to an end. Eventually, the newcomer would extradite himself from the discussion, and would pass through the corridor, studying those behind the bars. He would take one of the captives from one of the cells and they would leave together; some went quietly but others made ineffectual attempts to fight. Some time later, the woman would be returned to her cell by the same Saiyajin who had taken her away.

At some point during the night I dozed off. I awoke to the sound of my own cell door opening. There was a bald-headed Saiyajin out there, a man who seemed gigantic even by the standards of his race. He had a woman pinned between his chest and forearm, and though she was fairly tall her kicking feet dangled well above the floor. The Saiyajin's hand was pressed over her mouth, apparently to keep her silent, and such was the size of his palm that it might have covered her entire face. The eyes above his hand were huge and filled with rage. He dropped her on the floor of the cell and stepped out quickly, just as she sprung up to attack him. The woman hit the door as it latched shut instead, and clawed at the wire mesh with no more success than I had had.

Raditsu had come over to stand behind the other Saiyajin. He sneered at the woman through the mesh and said, "That wire's made of katchin, honey. Even _I _couldn't tear my way out of there."

"Keep an eye on this one," the other Saiyajin told him. "She's too smart for her own good - managed to get herself out of the Royal Quarters somehow or another. She was fiddling with the navigation controls when I caught her."

"Shit, Nappa," Raditsu drawled out. "Ungrateful bitch like that, why didn't you just kill her?"

"Isn't my place. The Prince has taken a shine to this one -"

"What? _Why_?"

"Hell if I know," Nappa said, then he seemed to remember his sense of propriety, for he turned and cuffed the other Saiyajin across the ear. "And it's not your place to be questioning the Prince's taste, either."

"Right," Raditsu said. "Sure."

"You've got a big mouth, Raditsu. It's going to get you in trouble someday." Nappa repeated, "Keep an eye on her. Vegeta will decide what he wants to have done in the morning." He stepped back to the doorway and crossed back into the interior of the ship, and the doors hissed shut behind him.

"Feh," Raditsu said, rubbing at his ear where the other man had struck him, "_I've _got a big mouth. That asshole couldn't shut up if his life depended on it." He looked to the woman sharply; she'd given up on tearing at the wire, and was now standing completely still, but for her chest, which rose and fell rapidly. She glared murder at him, but he did not seem to give that much consideration. "_Stupid_ woman," he said. "Shit, wish somebody'd ask_ me_ to sleep in the Royal Quarters. Bet it's nicer in there." He wandered back to his post, still muttering loudly to himself.

"You," I spoke to the woman, and she wheeled quickly face me as I stood up from the bed. When she saw me she let out a high, strangled squeak and pressed herself against the wall, as though she believed that she might slip away between the wires. I wondered how it was that she should fear me, when a moment before she'd shown naught but wrath for the Saiyajin. "You are one of Son Goku's creatures," I said.

"Th-that's right," she stammered. Her voice was hoarse, as though she had recently spent a great deal of time shouting. "I am, and you should remember that, because when we get back to Earth -"

I raised a hand, cutting her off. "Back to Earth?" I repeated. "We are on Earth still."

"Nu-uh," she said. "The ship left hours and hours ago."

"I did not feel any movement," I said, uneasily, for I did not believe that she was lying to me.

"Some nice fucking tech they've got going here, right?" she said. It seemed that she in her anger she was beginning to forget that she ought to be frightened of me, and I thought that was for the better, at least for the time being. "You can bet they up and stole it from somebody else. They raided my lab – earlier – just went and took whatever they wanted and -"

"You meant to return us to Earth," I said. She nodded, mutely. "Why?"

"Son will -"

I shook my head. "Son Goku is dead."

"You're lying."

"If you mistrust me, question that man on the matter." I nodded toward Raditsu. "He is the one who slew Son Goku."

She turned and glanced over her shoulder at the Saiyajin, and I saw her upper lip curl into a snarl. Then something seemed to go out of her, and she slumped down to the floor of the cell. Lifting her hands slowly, as though they weigh many tons, she folded them over her knees. "What about Chichi?" Her eyes were on her lap, watching her hands as they wrung together; the knuckles were bloody, I saw, and the nails were broken and ragged.

"Dead," I said. And added, before she could ask, "Their whelp as well."

"They got my parents, too," she said, distantly. I did not believe that she was really speaking to me at that moment, but perhaps to some absent friend. "Dad woke up and heard – things were getting blown up all over the place by then, but they'd been out at a cocktail party the night before, and after a evening like that those two could sleep through anything – But they woke up, and Dad came downstairs, and they killed him. Mom tried to run – she must've been going to get help – but they caught her in the drive and..." She was crying then, almost silently, her breath hitching in her throat periodically.

Some time later, she wiped her face on the edge of her ragged sleeve and looked up at me, and her eyes, though reddened, were piercing. "How do you know about what happened to Son?"

"In truth, I had other plans for this day," I told her. She laughed at that, though dully. I frowned, and she sobered quickly. "It was my intention to kill Son Goku today, or else die in the attempt. I went to his home for that very purpose. However, he" - I jerked my head at Raditsu again - "interrupted us before we had yet begun our battle. We – Son and I – attempted to join our forces against him, but it was of no use. Yes, he was far too strong for both Son and myself, and he is one of the least among these Saiyajin.

"He claimed to be Son Goku's brother," I added.

"He's not," she said. I opened my mouth to argue, to point out the matter of the tails – certainly, it is obvious that Son Goku was in the very least Saiyajin - but she insisted furiously, "He's_ not_. Son doesn't have anything to do with these bastards."

"What do I care of such things as brothers? It makes no difference," I said, and let the matter rest.

"What now?" she asked, after some time had passed.

"I know not," I said, "but I believe it would go better for you if you were to cease in your resistance."

She looked at me again, and the flames were back in her eyes. I almost might have believed that it was possible that she could do me harm, when she looked at me in that manner. I again felt the sense that there was some additional thing going on here, some piece of the equation that I was missing, and under her eyes the thought sent something like fear squirming through me. "What," she said, very slowly – very dangerously - "did you just say to me?"

"I believe that the Saiyajin might have spared Chichi if she hadn't insisted upon fighting against him to defend her whelp," I told her. "She was extremely powerful for a human, as I imagine you must know, and he seemed greatly impressed by that."

"You're a devil. You're a fucking monster."

"Of that there is no doubt, but you should try to hear me now if you've any desire to remain alive. I have been watching these Saiyajin for some time now, and I have seen the way in which they behave. They've taken many people away from these cells tonight, but with very few exceptions they have all been returned alive. Moreover, those who do not fight against the Saiyajin frequently return no more severely marked then when they were taken away. I am not certain to whatsoever purpose this is being done, but it seems that if you do not resist you should not come to any great harm -"

"You don't know their 'purpose' is?" she repeated incredulously. Her voice was very loud now, crackling with outrage, and I saw Raditsu look toward us, frowning. She sprung up to her feet and shoved me, slapping her palms against my bare chest. I did not yield, yet an instant later I found myself stepping back under the force of her glare. "How the fuck could you not have figured this shit out by now?" she demanded.

"Explain it to me, then, if I am such a lamentable fool."

I thought that she intended to strike out at me again, but her hand dropped back to her side before she had barely raised it. "No," she said. "I can't. I can't do this." She spun a slow circle, looking around the cell, like a ship unmoored in a storm, and then she staggered toward one the beds, and collapsed upon it, turning her face to the wall.

I do not know if she slept that night. I did not.


	3. Part Three: Bulma

**Trigger Warning:** This chapter contains graphic depictions of rape and sexual abuse that may be triggering to Survivors.

**Part Three: Bulma **

I thought it was Son, God help me. Never mind everything Piccolo had said, I was sure that it had to be Son.

The doors to the ship's interior hissed open, and I woke with a jerk at the sound. I am trying to be brave, but every time those doors open I'm sure that it has to be the Prince, coming back for me. I am lucky. I am so much more lucky than so many of the other women here, because at least for the last three nights the Saiyajin have ignored me.

It's hard to get any solid information, but I've gotten the idea that we're headed for some sort of slave port. I'd been sure that there would be some sort of pay back for trying to alter the ship's course, but so far that axe hasn't dropped. I think it will, though. I have a feeling, ominous but at least less immediate than some of the other dangers here, that I've been set aside for something different than the other captives.

When I saw the man I thought was Son step into the corridor I tried to speak up, but my voice caught in my chest. He looked exactly the same as Son – or at least, for that happy instant he did – same thick neck and heavy build, same spiky hair and big ears. He stopped when Raditsu spoke to him, turning his face to the other man.

From the other bed, Piccolo said, "You are mistaken. It is not he." I glanced over at Piccolo, and saw he was doing just what he'd been doing for the last three days; floating a few centimeters above the bed's surface with his eyes closed, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs folded under himself. Mediating, I guess. It was all the evil bastard ever did - he hadn't even said anything to me since the first night. He couldn't have made it any clearer that he didn't give a shit about the rest of us. Nothing here had anything to do with him, as far as he was concerned.

I looked back at the man, and seeing him again only made me more certain. "Son!" I shouted. "I'm over here!"

The instant that the Saiyajin turned toward my voice I realized that Piccolo had been right. The stranger possessed all the same features as Son, yes – but Son wouldn't have even known how to make his face form such an ugly sneer. He stepped over to the cell, and looked in at us from the other side of the bars. These Saiyajin have eyes that can make you feel like an insect, or like a piece of meat. When he looked at me, I couldn't hold his gaze. I dropped my eyes. Under the blankets, my hands curled into fists, ragged nails biting at my palms.

"What'd she call me?" he demanded, without taking his eyes from me.

"She thinks you're Kakarot," Raditsu replied.

"Your brother? That traitor, right?" he asked, turning the same ugly, mocking gaze on the other Saiyajin. Those eyes... those were eyes that could obliterate everything about another person and laugh while doing it, and even the other Saiyajin seemed to grow uncomfortable under their gaze. "I'm really insulted by her, Raditsu. Any brother of yours must have been ugly as shit."

"Feh," he muttered, but he didn't do anything else. I realized with a start that Raditsu was frightened of the other Saiyajin.

"Is that a Namekjin in there?"

"Yeah, it is," Raditsu said, preening now, disgustingly pleased with himself. "How about that? One hell of a find, right? Wouldn't have expected to find something that was actually worth _something_ on that dirtball of a planet, but I figure I can make -"

"Open the door."

"Aw hell, Turlus, I can't do that. That one in there belongs to Vegeta. She's only in here until she figures out how to get a better attitude."

The other Saiyajin wheeled on him, one smooth movement that my eyes couldn't even follow properly, turning to stare him in the face, and now there was no play – mocking or otherwise – in his expression. Under his gaze Raditsu shifted from foot to foot uncertainly. His arm went up to knead the muscles at the back of his neck, just like Son always used to when he was agitated. I don't see Son reflected in this man often, but when I do my stomach roils. After a second or two, he stepped forward and unlocked the cell door, then held it open for Turlus to step inside.

It was stupid, but I tried to dart around him and out of the cell. Turlus stuck his foot our and tripped me, and when I fell in a tangle in front of him he kicked me out of his way, as easily as I might have brushed a piece of trash from his path. The back of my head crashed against the cell's wall and lights went off behind my eyes. I tried to get back up to my feet, but the room was spinning in sickening loops and I couldn't figure out which way up was. Turlus's booted feet went past me like I wasn't there.

When the Saiyajin put his hand on Piccolo's shoulder, the demon stood without further prompting. He walked out of the cell a step ahead of Turlus, haughty and immaculately detached from everything around him, and when he glanced down at me in passing, his eyes were reproachful.

"You gonna live?" Raditsu said to me, after the doors had slid shut behind Piccolo and Turlus. He looked down at me, a frown tugging at the end of his mouth, but I knew that he wasn't worried about me – he was just worried about getting in trouble.

I ignored Raditsu – I've figured him out now, and he is beneath my contempt. "He really doesn't get it..." I muttered to myself. I hadn't been able to believe that he didn't really understand – I'd thought that he had to be feigning ignorance as some sort of cruel joke – but he really didn't seem to have any idea what... I should have warned him. But then I thought – maybe he wants Piccolo for something else. To spar, or -

Raditsu disabused me of such sunny ideas almost as soon as they'd come into my head. "That guy's fucked up," he said, speaking at me for no other reason than that I was there and had to listen to him. "No conception of what's appropriate behavior and what isn't. He shouldn't even be allowed to call himself a Saiyajin, not with the creepy shit he gets into." He motioned expansively at around the corridor. "This is disgraceful enough, so many Saiyajin lowering themselves to this sort of miscegenation, but a Namekjin? Shit, he might as well go bugger some dumb animal."

"Are you worried that my opinion of you people is going to suffer?" I laughed at him. I laughed, because I couldn't murder him like I wanted to, and the sound of it was so unhinged and wildly bitter that I barely recognized my own voice. But I liked that it scared him worse than it scared me.

"Shut up," he barked at me. "No one was talking to you."

"I can't believe that you're for real," I told him. "How could anyone who shares blood with Son Goku could really be such a... such a gutless nothing. You're nothing but talk."

He gripped the cell bars, bringing his face up against the mesh, eyes level to mine. His lips were skinned back, showing teeth. A vein throbbed at his temple. "Just you shut up," he said again. I spit.

He reared back, swiping at his face with the back of his forearm and fumbling with the keys.

That stopped him. He put the keys away, and stalked off, still muttering to himself.

When Piccolo was brought back, hours later, he was more dead than alive.

Turlus didn't even bother to come back into the corridor. Raditsu took Piccolo from him at the threshold, and carried him over to the cell. He unlocked the door with his free hand, then stepped into the cell and dropped Piccolo on his bunk. He looked down at Piccolo's ruined face, and shook his head in disgust. "Fucking disgrace, damaging the merchandise like that." Then went out again, locking the door behind him, and took up his post by the door again.

I had stood and moved to the far corner of the cell when Raditsu had come inside, but now that he was gone again I was afraid to move. I felt like I'd been locked in with a wounded dinosaur, and I couldn't seem to make myself go over to see what had been done to him. What if he blamed me for it, because I hadn't warned him, had refused to explain? He was beat all to hell, yeah, but someone like him could still crush me with a swipe of the back of his hand. And he was a demon, and demons were supposed to be spiteful.

He moaned, and I found myself moving toward him, then kneeling beside the bed. They've left him exposed, and I can't easily classify what I see or calculate the damage that's been done. I turn my eyes to the ground and pull the blankets up to his waist. Then I studied the injuries that were easier to think about, though these are bad enough by themselves. From the way he's been marked I could read what was done to him, how he was held, the angles from which he was taken. The bruises and lacerations on his arms and throat – vulgar purple against his green skin – were like a familiar map, so often I'd seen them against the skin of the other women here, and on my own flesh.

One eyelid droops oddly when he looks up at me, and I thought that the supraorbital arch must have been crushed, from the way the his prominent brow-ridge drooped also. He grimaced around a mouthful of broken teeth, and I saw that he wants to turn to his side, so I help him, trying not to cause anymore hurt. There's a swelling developing on his left side, and when I probed it carefully with my fingertips I felt the broken ribs shift and grind together. He hissed, and I pulled my hands away.

Reincarnation of the old King Piccolo or not, full-grown or not, all I can think is that in actual years he isn't all that much older than Gohan was.

"I've the most astonishing news to tell you," he whispered.

"You should rest right now," I told him. "Don't talk."

He ignored me, so when he spoke again, I leaned in closer, trying to catch his words. "You know, do you not, that the god of Earth and I were one in the same?" He paused, waiting for an answer, or maybe simply to catch his breath, which was coming quick and shallowly. "My... distress is his as well. He knows all, always.

"But he spoke to me, just a short while ago. He bid me to stay alive, if I could, for my death is his as well, and he must live for the Dragon Balls to remain active. He is bring them together even now – It will not be long until he's able to call the Dragon, and then all this will be put to rights. We simply must persevere until then."

An hallucination, I thought. There's nothing Kami could do to help any of us now.


	4. Part Four: Piccolo

**Part Four: Piccolo**

She tormented the brother of Son Goku mercilessly. At some point Bulma seemed to have discovered that he was not permitted to touch her, and since then she has been relentless, needling him at every opportunity with no consideration for the possibility of retribution. When the other Saiyajin were present she kept silent, for they still seem to hold some measure of terror for her, but when Raditsu was here alone his entire being became subject to her ridicule.

She insults his personal appearance and that of his entire race, questions his manhood and his intelligence and his parentage. She wonders out loud if he was conceived in a place such as this, and perhaps this speculation strikes the bone, for nothing else that she has said has provoked the same rage as this suggestion.

Additionally, she tells him that Son Goku loved her as a sibling, and lists at length all the reasons why Son would never have deigned to feel so toward Raditsu, but this line of conversation provokes little reaction from the Saiyajin. Son seemed to have meant much to her, and for this reason she does not seem to truly understand that Son's opinion on such matters means less to him then the filth on the bottom of his boots. But then, she was not there when he killed Son Goku; she cannot understand that Raditsu's hatred for Son runs much deeper and is far more personal than any disgust he might feel toward people such as us. In this matter, her words only reinforce his feelings that he made the right decision when he put Son Goku down.

It seems as though something that she had up until then kept suppressed snapped inside her the night I was taken away. Her outrage on my behalf, and on behalf of these others here, and on behalf of the Earth, is great, and Raditsu has become the target of it all. She was exceedingly fearsome, and I wondered if this was as she had always been, back on Earth and before this place.

It was a fine thing to witness, but when none of the Saiyajin were listening I have asked her to stop, as I am greatly worried that he might conclude that she could be harmed through me. Bulma has acknowledged the wisdom of this, and has promised more than once to show restraint, but upon his return she immediately cuts into Raditsu again. It is not well, because if Kami is to complete his scheme it is necessary that I remain alive, but the matter seems to be completely beyond her control.

Then also, she does not seem to truly believe that the old god spoke to me, though she seems unwilling to say so directly. The topic angers her, and so she avoids it, out of some lingering fear that I might still do her harm if provoked, but also because she seems to imagine that words from such as her could do me harm. Indeed, she treats me with exceeding gentleness, and stays near my bedside much of the time. It's a very strange thing, for I've never before been treated in such a way. I cannot say whether or not it pleases me, but it is very strange.

She slept there now, sitting on the floor beside the head of the cot, legs pulled up tightly against her chest, arms folded across her knees, head nested atop her arms. When the door hissed open in the corridor outside she woke with a start, becoming instantly aware of her surroundings. But there was no need for her to fear, at least this time; it was merely the small birdish slaves, here with the morning meal.

Bulma stands to retrieve the trays, and while her back is to me I sit up in the bed as quickly as I am able, so that she will not see how much this action pains me, even three days later. It is in my nature to conceal any weakness, and already she knows so much that I can barely stand to feel her eyes on me, even full of outraged commiseration as they are. Her understanding shames me, for never had I thought that I might be dragged so far down to this level.

Fractured ribs grind together as I move, and I'm reminded of Son before he died, the way his chest crackled when Raditsu pressed his booted foot down against him. The shocked, colorless aspect his face took on when the fragmented bones punctured his his heart and lungs. They've taken everything that was meant to be mine from me, and I'll get precious little of it back. No, not even after Kami's made his wish.

She returned with the trays, holding one out to me, as she always did. As ever, I shook my head. She settled down back on the floor by the head of the cot. Sitting the spare tray off to the side, she balanced her own over her knees. "You need to eat something soon, you know," she said, gesturing expansively with her fork. "How do you ever expect to get your strength back?"

"It does not matter," I said. "I need only stay alive long enough for Kami to make his wish." She said nothing, but studied the tray with its compartments, each filled with a different multicolored substance, with feigned intensity. "You do not believe that Kami is capable of doing anything to aid us," I said.

She tossed her fork back down onto the tray, then shoved the tray itself off her lap. It clattered when it hit the floor, but did not overturn. "I don't," she said. "I understand how the dragon balls work, you know. He can't kill the Saiyajin with them."

"This is true," I said, "and is certainly one drawback of the dragon balls as Kami created them – would that I had been consulted the powers that govern them would have been aligned very differently. No, but the old god has a different plan."

"What?" she said, finally turning her face toward me.

"It's not so cunning a plan," I said, for I'm loath to say anything good about the old god, "but I believe that it should serve. He intends to wish all the survivors to some new planet, in a distant place, where the Saiyajin will never again discover us."

"No," she said, and then very suddenly she was on her feet, leaning over me, jabbing at my chest with her finger. "You tell him that's not good enough. What about everyone else? What about Son, and my parents and everyone else?"

"Lower your voice," I told her. "The guard is watching you."

"What about everyone else?" she repeated, her voice a hiss rather than a whisper. Revolting, how this woman can make me feel as a coward under her gaze. "And not just the ones from Earth. Do you know how many different types of people the Prince has in that harem of his? Dozens of species, from dozens of murdered worlds. And now you're telling me that the big plan is just to run away? Run away and let the Saiyajin just get away with everything that they've been doing, just let this go on forever -"

"Our resources are limited," I said, "and Kami's primary responsibility is to the people of his world. He can only save that which he has the power to save."

"It's not good enough," she said again. "I can't accept it."

"You must," I told her, though the words were as bile in my throat. "You have no other choice."


	5. Part Five: Bulma

Part Five: Bulma

I bit it all down.

I shoved it all down inside of me, biting back every speck resistance and outrage and hate until I thought I was sure I'd choke on it. And once I'd done that, I pushed it all down further. I became exactly what they wanted me to be, just as pliant and accommodating as they wanted, because that was the only way I'd be able get my chance.

Before long word got back to the Prince's people that I was ready to behave myself, and Nappa came to fetch me. I begged him to take me back to the Royal Quarters, because at least there were other people there.

This was weeks after they'd already taken the other women and Piccolo away. I'd no exact idea about where they'd been taken, but I had an idea that it was to some sort of slave port. That's what I hoped, anyway – that it was a slave port, and that at least most of them ended up some place that wasn't too horrible. There was no saying, though, and the thing ate at my guts, because I had way too much time to think about it. But that had been weeks earlier, when the others were taken away. Since then they hadn't even bothered to put a guard on the corridor. The people I saw were the little scuttling bird-people who brought the meal trays three times a day, and they never spoke to me – never even gave the impression that they understood my words or even heard them, not even when I screamed. I spent a lot of time wondering what would happen if those little guys forgot about me... how long it might take me to starve to death if they stopped bringing my meals. I starting hoarding food around then, stuffing anything and everything that seemed like it would keep under the mattresses.

I was so eager to go by the time Nappa came to get me that I disgusted even myself, but I pushed that feeling down too, pretended that I didn't feel it so hard that the feeling almost went away. I watched the women in the Prince's harem when I was returned there, watching to see what I should be. When I saw that the Prince quickly lost interest in those women who had been broken, and that those sad creatures were passed down in the ranks, and lost much of the relative freedom of movement that the Prince's favorites had, I found a new way to be what I needed be.

He's as much as masochist as he is a sadist, the Prince. He wants to be insulted. He needs to be abused, or it doesn't work for him, and people die when it doesn't work for him. He can accept nothing that is given, but only takes and takes and takes.

It's better that the others have gone away - Piccolo especially - because I don't know if I could have acted on my plan with them still on board. Before he left, I told him, "Have Kami make his wish, but tell him to wish _all_ the Saiyajin's victims somewhere safe. Everyone, you understand? No one gets left behind."

But I know when I said that that the Dragon couldn't take me anywhere I didn't consent to going. And I knew I'd have to stay back. I had so much more fire in my belly back then. Even as bad as things were, I didn't know how hard it would really be to tell the Dragon "No," when months later his low growl, reverberating against the inside of my skull, woke me from sleep and asked me if I wished to be taken away from all this.

"Endure," Piccolo told me, before he was taken away with the others. "Very soon all of this will be nothing more than a foul dream."

But he was lying to me, too. He knew just as well as I did that even when this was all over with, it would never really be over.


	6. Part Six: Piccolo

**Part Six: Piccolo**

I shoved my way through the milling crowds, calling out Bulma's name as I tried to take in my new surroundings.

Our new world seems to be a very fine one warm and quite green though at the moment this particular location is exceedingly crowded. It seemed to me that the Dragon had dropped us all of those who had lost our worlds to the Saiyajin, and who could say how many millions that might be in the same general location. Feathers and scales bump against fur and naked skin, all caught in the confusing press of different shapes and sizes and tongues.

If Kami means to be god over all these here, then he has quite the task before him. Watching them I feel my old self stir gleefully within me, the section of my being that revels in hate and blind chaos and destruction, for already I can see like separating out into groups of like, and each new faction eyes those most different from themselves with suspicion. They've all suffered the same under the boots of the Saiyajin, yes, but somehow I doubt that they will be quick to recognize any commonality of interests. Such is the way of things.

I spend the entirety of my first day searching for her, but without success. However, as the light began to fade from the sky, I heard someone else calling out her name as well. I fell silent, but moved toward the sound.

Though he was dwarfed by much of the rest of the crowd, I saw him before he noticed me. It was the little monk, the comrade of Son Goku, who was killed by Tambourine some years before but who was shortly thereafter revived by the Dragon Balls.

I was very close to him before he finally noticed me. "Piccolo!" he said, and a relieved grin spread across his face at the sight of someone he finally recognized. Then he remembered who I was, and said again, "Piccolo!" which was followed immediately by "oh shit!" Whereupon he turned tail and attempted to flee away from me.

I reached out and caught him by the back of his neck, then lifted him up turned him to face me. He was very dirty, his _gi _smeared with dried mud to mute the bright orange coloration of the fabric, and also he smelled very strongly. He kicked and squirmed in my grasp, trying ineffectually to break free. The joy that there once was in seeing that trapped, desperate sort of horror in the face of another has gone away from me, and I put him down again very quickly.

"you," I said to him, before he could think to run again. "You know where the old god is, do you not?" I asked after Kami because it was clear from his earlier calling that this one knew naught of Bulma's location.

"Maybe I do and maybe I don't," he said defiantly, planting his small feet firmly in the soil and stretching himself to his full, pitiable height. "But maybe I shouldn't tell you."

"Calm yourself," I told him. "If it were my intention to harm you your corpse would already be growing cold. Tell me: Why did it take so long for the old god to make his wish? Months have gone by since he last deigned to contact me!"

He is desperate for companionship all humans seem to have this foil and his resistance softens at the chance to have his words heard. I listen to him, for what he has to say may well be useful in the planning of my next course of action, and also because he may still help be of some help in leading me to Bulma.

He began, "The Saiyajin - you know about them right?" I nodded stiffly. Course you do. "The Saiyajin destroyed some of the dragon balls when they were blowing everything else all to hell. Kami had to go into... I guess you'd call it some sort of mediation or something like that to make 'em again. It took him a while."

"And what was your role, while he was engaged in that project?"

"Aw hell... hiding, mostly. After I found what was left of the dragon balls for Kami, anyway. I was trying to find some of the rest of the gang, too, but I haven't had any luck. I noticed that the Saiyajin were taking away a lot of the folks that looked like them, so I thought maybe Yamcha might have been on one of the ships that left, on account of his looks and all. And I thought for sure Goku would be here, because... because he's sort of one of them, isn't he? He isn't with them he wouldn't ever be with them but I guess he must've used to have been been a Saiyajin. But I can't find either of their ki, not with all these other guys around..."

"I've seen or heard nothing of Yamcha. However, I know Son Goku to be dead." He took the blow surprisingly well, and I thought that I ought to give him credit for that. But then it came to me he might simply be that he was too punch drunk to feel this new strike. There will, it goes without saying, be no wishing him back; by the time the dragon balls are active again, more than a year will have elapsed since the date of Son Goku's death.

"However," I said, "I believe that Bulma may still be alive." To voice to the words embodied them with hope, and I drew away from that feeling, mistrusting it. "That is to say, up until some months ago she was alive. We were separated. I have not seen her since."

"She's alive," a third voice called out at us. It was a voice somewhat like my own, similar in the same way that fresh spring leaves brushed together by the breeze resemble the crackling of dry and dead ones underfoot in the fall. I turned toward the sound and saw the old god hobbling toward us.

He leaned heavily on his staff as he came forward, more so than I had ever seen him do before, and all his movements were slow and pained. He's an old worn thing, this other half of myself, taunt graying skin stretched over hallow bone. Looking at him, I can see that he has been used up by this crisis. I can see that neither of us should expect to live on much longer.

"Bulma's alive," Kami repeated. "But she has refused to allow the Dragon to bring her here with us."


	7. Part Seven: Bulma

**Part Seven: Bulma**

The Saiyajin woke to find all their slaves gone. Disappeared. Vanished without a trace. Every last one of them, except for me.

The entire thing sent them into a sort of baffled inaction. They are like spoiled, revolting children, and without the slaves on board they seemed at a loss to even feed themselves. Their priories were obvious; instead of questioning me about what I might know about the disappearances, they sent me to the kitchens. I debated using the opportunity to try and poison them, but decided it was too risky. Better to stick to the plan.

Keeping two dozens of these monsters fed single-handedly would have been an overwhelming chore even under the best of conditions. As it was, I'd had a long and sleepless night wrangling with a computer system that up until very recently I'd only seen operated second-hand. But I'd learned to make due with a lot less since coming to this place, and no one seemed to notice how tired I was, anyway. In fact, aside for the obvious matter of the missing slaves, no one seemed to notice that anything else was up for the longest time.

The Saiyajin aren't used to being responsible for their own vessel. The ship travels on the course I've set for it for nearly three full days before they realize that computers have been tampered with. Even then, they only caught on because one of the external temperature alarms that I'd somehow overlooked started to go off. But by then we were already a lot closer to the star then we had any sensible right being.

Things started to get out of control fast when they realized that the navigation system was locked down. Once the fact that they couldn't change the ship's course started to sink in they quickly began to lose their shit. From the other side of the kitchen walls I heard them shouting at each other, arguing in loud voices. It was starting to get sort of warm in the kitchens, so I turned ovens off. Way I saw it, pretty soon even the Saiyajin were going to agree that a late dinner was the least of their problems.

They spent another hour just trying to figuring out that every last one of their escape pods had become completely uncooperative. So far I was able to tell none of them thought to open one of the pods up to look inside. If they had and if they'd known what to look for they would have seen that certain key components had been removed from the engines. Said parts had been broken into several additional pieces by yours truly, and were currently sitting at the bottom of the ship's waste receptacle. By the time it occurred to someone to question little old me about all this, I'd already retreated inside the walk-in freezer - it was a little bit cooler, though by then it was more or less a matter of degree.

They burst into the kitchen, the Prince at the head of the crush. A big part of me hoped that they'd make a mistake as they pulled me out of the freezer, that some stray blow might catch me in the side of the head, cave my skull in - none of this was going to be pretty and there wasn't much reason for me to stick around for the final act - but the Prince was too careful for that. All around us his men were turning on themselves, lashing out at one another with impotent rage, but once I fell into his arms he made certain that no one got close enough to lay a finger on me. He dragged me through the corridors and up to the ship's bridge, and the other Saiyajin followed behind in a rioting mob.

In the bridge, the star shone blindingly in the view screen, growing larger and brighter with every passing moment. Balls of flame danced wildly across its swirling blue surface. We were all sweating by then, and pressed against the Prince's chest I could smell his sweat, hear him breathing heavily, almost panting. It brought a sick twist of panic, but I tried to bite it back, because I didn't want to be scared right now. They were scared as hell, yeah scared of me for a change, of what _I_ could do to _them_ but I didn't want to be scared with them.

This is all I could do. I couldn't bring my family back, or my home, or my world. Son was gone, and he wasn't ever going to live again, and there wasn't anything I could do to fix that. And I couldn't make an end to the Saiyajin either there were other ships full of them right now, the gods only knew how many, and after all this was all over they were just going to keep on doing everything they'd always been doing, and there was nothing I could do to stop that.

But I could make them this ship full of slavers and rapists and killers feel a little taste of what it was like. And I could make the Prince be afraid.

"You will correct this," he said, dropping me in front of the control panel. Behind us, a brawl had broken out among the others. Somebody shoved Raditsu backwards, and his arms pinwheeling wildly as he tried to catch his balance he stumbled up against Vegeta. The Prince turned, almost causally, and pressed his open palm against Raditsu's stomach. The palm glowed with a blue light, not unlike that of the approaching star, and then that light bore through Raditsu's center and shot out his back. Raditsu fell, and didn't move again, and for a instant everyone else was still and silent too.

Then the thing seemed to be forgotten almost as quickly as it had happened, and they were all shouting again at the Prince, at each other, at me. Nappa was repeating the Prince's name over and over, as though it were some sort of mantra; Vegeta did not seem to even to hear him. Turlus was closer by, and he was trying to bargain with me he promised me worlds, and riches, and power, anything I wanted; as though there was anything in this world or the next that I wanted more than to see his face that face that he had no right to have reduced to ashes.

"You will correct this," the Prince repeated. "You will unlock the controls."

I couldn't if I wanted to, and I sure as hell don't. The password I put on the navigation controls was nothing more than a long series of random keystrokes I hadn't even looked at the screen when I typed it in. They could skin me alive right here and I still wouldn't be able to change the ship's course.

I could feel the heat radiating up through the soles of my shoes. Something inside the view screen exploded with a hollow popping sound, and the screen went dead. Suddenly, it was much darker on the bridge, but no less hot.

"No," I said.

"You will," he said again, grating out the words through clenched teeth. He grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around, shoving me toward the control panel. My hands came up to catch myself from falling. But when my palms touched the panel I jerked them away the keys were blisteringly hot, and as gummy as half-melted marshmallows. "You will do as you are told."

I turned back around to face him. One of the bigger Saiyajin was swaying. His eyes rolled up into his red face, and then he fainted, crumpling to the ground with a heavy thump. The ship groaned, as though in sympathy, as though it were coming apart.

"No," I said again.

Vegeta brought his arm up over my head. There was a flash of blue light I couldn't tell were it came from, if it was the star or the Prince and then for what seemed like a terribly long time there wasn't anything else at all.


	8. Coda: Piccolo

**Coda: Piccolo **

There was very little room for error in this matter. By merit of the authority incumbent upon my new station, I was privy to all relevant information concerning the destruction of the Saiyajin Prince's ship. Though Lord Enma's records made a sparse narrative, sticking religiously to the the facts as they did, it did not take much imagination to fill in the gaps.

She destroyed them utterly. Somehow, by guile or stealth or cunning, Bulma took control of the Saiyajin's ship and drove it a star, killing all aboard, herself included. Though the old god was once again a part of me, and moderated my feelings somewhat, I could not help but admire such ruthlessness.

It seemed that Bulma had taken action immediately following the wish which had brought the rest of us to this new world, which left a very brief window of opportunity. However, previous to our arrival, hands that could work stone had never before existed on this world. Even in their inert state the dragon balls' distinct, perfectly rounded shape made them stand out from the native stone. Long before the year had passed, all seven of the stone balls had been brought to me.

I called forth the Dragon God as soon as it was possible to do so, and asked of him that my wish be granted. This was done quickly, and afterward the Dragon did not tarry long with me; we were part of the same thing now, though his role in the Heavens is much greater than my own, and well we both understood that gods have little time for idle chitchat.

The dark clouds that the Dragon brought with him were already fading when Bulma appeared on the cliff beside me. The wind was strong up here, and when the gusts attempted to blow her hair into her eyes she reached up and gathered the strands together, then pushed it beneath her shirt collar.

When she had completed this task, she turned her head to look at me. "I'm alive again, right?" she asked. I nodded. "Thank god! - Heaven was getting way too boring for me!" She moved toward the cliff's edge, peering down at all the growing little villages below us. I moved to follow her, the weight of my staff resting easily against my shoulder.

She turned back to face me, then put her hands on her hips. "What're you smirking about?" she demanded, but as she studied my face her own expression grew serious. "You look _old_," she blurted out.

I crossed my own arms, the staff braced in the crook of my elbow. "I do not believe that I'm as ancient as all that," I told her stiffly, for in truth she's hit a sore point – I had been concerned that I would find myself enfeebled upon fusing with the old god, despite all his reassurances; instead, I've found myself - though somewhat aged – infused with more power than I could have previously imagined. Indeed, with the power I now posses I believe I might have made short work of the Saiyajin.

"It was necessary," I continued, "that Kami and I again became one being. The people here needed more protection and guidance than he could provide alone. He was very aged and near to death, and the business of the Saiyajin had taxed him greatly. We could not afford to lose the dragon balls, nor was I willing to relinquish my own life so soon."

"Oh," she said, and then hesitated before adding, "Then you're... are you -"

"I am as I have always been," I told her, and she allowed that lie to pass unremarked upon. "Though my authority has been increased. I am to be god over this world, as Kami was of Earth."

She turned back toward the cliff edge, staring down at the villages in the valley below. They were various in their aspects, those villages and the fields that surrounded them, the products of hundreds of divergent cultures from scores of different worlds. Many were surrounded by ineffectual but earnestly constructed walls, or were in other ways secured against their neighbors.

"Is this the new Earth?" she asked me, and I realized that of course she could not see the people moving about below us from this height, so many different types and kinds, as I could. Even if I were to close my eyes still I could see them all. More even than that, for I knew also their hearts and their souls, and everything they dreamed of and wished for. I knew too what they feared, and for so many that was very nearly everything.

"No," I told her. "Earth is over with. This is some new thing. May I show you?" I placed my hand on her shoulder, and allowed her to see all, as I saw it, and felt that she did not draw away, even from the worst of it, and knew that I had made the right decision in bringing her here.

"The people here are deeply damaged," I said, lifting my hand. "They've lost much, had many things taken away from them. They are confused and frightened, and they won't put their experiences behind them easily."

"No," she agreed slowly, frowning. "None of this is going to be easy, is it?"

"I'd have you here with me," I blurted out. "Mr. Popo is dead, and I find myself sore in need of council. The old god – he trusted that I was capable of looking over these here, but I do not know. I fear I am not well suited to this - …What are you doing?"

She had gone down on her hands and knees near the end of the cliff, and was dangling one leg over the edge, apparently seeking purchase. "We need to go down there,"she said. "You're being really stupid, just sitting up here waiting for some bad to happen, when you should be looking for some way to take action -" The bit of brush she had been clinging to gave away, and Bulma began to fall backwards. I reached out and caught her by the hand quickly, and helped her back onto solid ground.

"We need to be down there with them," she repeated. "But maybe you should fly us there."

**END. **


End file.
